


Beating Like a Hammer

by dentigerous



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pining, Pining Stiles, Some great cliches in here, Stargazing, so enjoy it!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:37:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dentigerous/pseuds/dentigerous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short look into Scott and Stiles' relationship when they're living together as roommates in college:</p><p>“I’m trusting you!” Stiles moaned, his head falling forward as Scott moved his fingers slowly through his hair, putting the comb at the back of his neck again.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>The taller boy was silent for the rest of the haircut. Head bowed, hands clasped lightly, Stiles closed his eyes, letting Scott’s hand move his head side to side as needed. He felt his shorn hair on his shoulders and down his back and made no move to brush it off, letting Scott push it off his skin. </p><p>Stiles had to resist shivering under his fingers. </p><p>A fic for the 2015 Sciles Revbang. COMPLETE, INCLUDES FANART.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating Like a Hammer

**Author's Note:**

> No real warnings needed (cursing, sex, etc). M is definitely needed. 
> 
> Enjoy a fanmix for your reading pleasure: http://8tracks.com/linfin/young-bloody

 

☉

“Hold still.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t said ‘ _oops_ ’ like four seconds ago I would be less jittery. I thought you’d have a better bedside manner, you know? Considering your mom—”

“Stiles,” Scott’s voice was soft, almost exasperated. Stiles huffed, twisted his mouth to the side and stayed silent as Scott turned the razor on again. Placing his feet flat on the ceramic of the tub, Stiles pushed back, closer to Scott, bending over a little more. Flexing, maybe, stretching his shoulders out as Scott’s free hand rested on his neck.

He swallowed, closing his eyes tightly as the calloused pads of Scott’s fingers moved through his hair, along his scalp and then stopped, hesitating.

“You sure. . .?”

“Fucking do it, just do it.”

The plastic comb hit the back of his neck and the small vibrations seemed to echo through his bones, through his chest, as Scott moved the razor carefully along Stiles’ scalp. Scott stopped, his fingers pressing against the bare, suddenly cooler skin, and Stiles made a soft noise.

“Done already?” he said quickly, trying to push down the noise nestled in the back of his throat.

“I should let you walk out of here with only a stripe shaved off.” Scott smiled and Stiles shook his head.

“I’m trusting you!” he moaned, his head falling forward again as Scott moved his fingers slowly through his hair, putting the comb at the back of his neck again.

“I know.”

Stiles was silent for the rest of the haircut. Head bowed, hands clasped lightly, he closed his eyes, letting Scott’s hand move his head side to side as needed. He felt his shorn hair on his shoulders and down his back and made no move to brush it off, letting Scott push it off his skin.

Stiles had to resist shivering under his fingers.

Scott turned Stiles’ head, drawing his nails gently over the edge of the undercut, keeping it straight as he fixed up the fade. Stiles couldn’t breathe as Scott shaved around his ears, his fingers right at his cheek and along his jaw, folding his neck down.

“It’s looking good.”

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, trying to ignore the flush on his cheeks. It was a warm spring and he would later cite the unusual weather as justification for his new hair. He swallowed and took another deep breath, eyes closed.

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

Stiles’ shoulder pressed against Scott’s calf lightly and he nodded.

“Good.”

A few minutes later, Scott turned off the razor and brushed the hair off Stiles’ back and shoulders. He ran his hand through Stiles’ newly cut hair once more before sitting back, setting the razor on the tile. Stiles swallowed and ran both hands through his hair, his fingers seeking out the seam curiously, feeling the line that ran around his head.

“What do you think?” Scott asked, putting his hand back on Stiles’ head, fingers brushing his ear. Stiles swallowed, ignored the flush on his cheeks and shrugged, pulling his own hand back.

“Well, I can’t tell you because I can’t really see it, you know? Give me a sec,” he mumbled, shifting and standing up, hand on the shower tile. Stiles turned to look back at a smiling Scott and rolled his eyes. “You’re way too proud of yourself.”

“It looks good!”

“So maybe you should become a professional hairdresser, what do you think about that?” Stiles said, taking a tentative step out of the tub. He went over to the bathroom sink and raise his eyebrows at his reflection, turning his head to the left and then to to the right, dragging his fingers along the undercut.

Scott stood up as well, going over to peek over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Nice.”

Stiles scowled, turning to look at Scott. The shorter man reached up and ruffled Stiles’ hair before his hand was batted away again. Scott laughed, taking a few steps back and picking up his shirt.

“Get ready for class. We have stats in an hour.”

Stiles groaned loud enough to be heard in the main room.

“Shut up!” Scott called back to him as Stiles pushed his hair to one side and then the other. “You didn’t even do the fucking homework!”

“It’s the last Friday before break! Let’s just play fucking hookey, huh? Besides,” Stiles yelled back, grabbing his clothes and pulling them on quickly, “Homework is for dweebs like you!” Scott laughed from the other room and Stiles groaned again before he took another look in the mirror, gave himself three seconds with his mouth pursed into Blue Steel. He grinned at his reflection before almost falling out of the bathroom. At least he looked damn good.

☉

“Dude, it’s going to be like forty degrees tomorrow night.”

“It’s the Lyrid meteor shower! This is the last weekend before classes start again and we’ve practically wasted the entire break! Come on, we can take your bike into the mountains, look at some badass meotors, smoke some weed—”

“Stiles.”

“—or not, whatever man, I mean should you choose not to partake, more for me right?”

Stiles was grinning, standing in front of Scott, arms spread to block the Santa Clara-UC Davis game. Scott made a noise, leaning on the couch to try to look around his roommate.

“Come on, come on.”

“Are you listening to me?”

“No?” Scott glanced up at Stiles, eyebrows up. Stiles groaned and Scott hung his head before putting his hands up in a defeated gesture.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, we’ll go see the Leo meteor shower—”

“Lyrid.”

“Whatever. Now move, okay?”

Stiles grinned and brought back the stolen bag of Doritos, holding it out to Scott as he sat down. It was the last weekend of their lonely and absurdly sober Spring Break. They just couldn't afford the vacations and beach weeks that some of the other students could.

Stiles didn’t mind. He had spent most of the week getting high and binge watching _The Biggest Loser_ as Scott worked out. It was a sad, lonely existence but at least he got to admire his friend’s shoulders as he did push-ups to the sound of Jillian Michael’s yelling.

Not bad at all.

A few days later and Stiles had effectively packed all the most important supplies that two teenaged boys would need to last them through a night in the wilderness. Road flares, three pairs of boxers, a couple extra layers and a backup pipe had all made their way into the messenger bag that Stiles had expertly strapped over his chest.

“You know the way?” Scott asked, holding the extra helmet out to Stiles.

“Approximately.”

“Jerk.” Scott smiled and put his own helmet on as Stiles climbed onto the bike behind him. He started up the engine as Stiles readjusted his bag again before wrapping an arm around Scott’s waist comfortably.

“Aw, you don’t mean that,” Stiles said, shifting and setting his feet on the rests at the back of the bike. Scott pushed off and Stiles smiled. “North, Interstate 5.”

“Hold on.”

They traveled along the Interstate for an hour before taking one of the smaller highways to a nature preserve by a lake. Stiles had assured Scott that they would go, watch some stars, crash at a cheap motel less than half an hour away and the head home. Easy. And Scott would get an astral education too, which was definitely something that Stiles was excited to talk about.

“This look good?”

They had driven through the park and found a campground by the lake. Stiles nodded, making a noise against Scott’s back as the young man leaned over, boots on the ground.

“Dude, my everything has fallen asleep,” Stiles muttered, easing himself off the bike and grimacing. “How do I always forget what it feels like to have feeling in my ass?” He groaned as Scott put the kickstand down. “I mean, once it goes numb it’s great, but like getting it back in gear is the worst.”

“You’re ass isn’t in gear all the time?” Scott asked, smiling slightly as he pulled off his helmet. “I remember a conversation about this.”

“I’ve got an ass that just doesn’t quit,” Stiles agreed, sliding off his backpack and grabbing a sandwich. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Scott tilted his head, raising his eyebrows as his eyes strayed downwards.

“Hey!” Stiles glanced back at Scott, putting on a mock air of offence, his eyebrows up. “My eyes are up here, alright?”

“I was making sure your ass was still in the game.”

“Eyes ahead, mister buns of steel,” Stiles muttered around his sandwich.

Scott laughed and got off the bike, finding a towel (the two boys didn’t have a blanket they were willing to get dirt on. Towels, however, they were willing to sacrifice) and laying it on the ground, stretching a bit before sitting down.

He didn’t notice the way Stiles’ eyes followed his arms up, the way his friend licked his lips and glanced away as Scott’s shirt rode up in back. Stiles finished his sandwich, wiped his hands on his jeans and quickly walked a short distance away, dropping his pants to relieve himself.

This was going to be a long night.

They had both brought some school work, finishing up a couple chapters each before the sun set. There was a small firepit only ten yards away where they had set up a nice blaze. Stiles shifted, took a hit from the small glass pipe he had brought along and passed it to Scott. He hesitated and Stiles smirked, leaning into him, wiggling the pipe under his nose.

“C’mon. Peer pressure. It’s the cool thing.”

Scott rolled his eyes and took the pipe from his friend. Stiles lifted both arms into the air, looking triumphant as Scott took a long hit, closing his eyes. Stiles giggled, leaning against Scott, taking the pipe back as he exhaled upwards, the cloudy smoke hanging for a second before disappearing.

“Mmm.” Stiles shifted against Scott, looking up at the sky, smiling. His head was on Scott’s shoulder, his arm pressed against Scott’s side. “It’s a good night.”

“You saw a star already?” Scott blinked, looking up as well. “I missed it.”

“No, it just is, okay? Give it thirty minutes and we’ll see some.”

“How many?”

“At once?”

“The entire night.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Let me pull out my failsafe farmer’s almanac and consult the star guide. Oh here it is, Scott McCall will see exactly forty-seven stars and Stiles will see two. How about that? How do they know? Guessing must work out great for these farmer types.”

“Shut up.” Scott was still smiling upwards as Stiles shifted to get easier access to his pipe. He paused when Scott moved too and decided to stay still, not admitting that he just didn’t want to move away from the vital warmth next to him. He stayed still for a few minutes, blinking against the fire’s smoke, eyes turning an even brighter red.

“Nah,” Stiles murmured, taking another hit and cashing the bowl. He sighed and leaned forwards to ash the pipe into the fire, moving so he sat up, away from Scott. His side felt cold but he didn’t say anything, blinking upwards. “See anything yet?”

“Just regular, old, boring stars,” Scott said, eyes up.

Stiles looked at Scott’s profile, taking in his nose, his open mouth as he stared at the sky. He swallowed and quickly looked down, running his hand under his nose, frowning. Shit. Shit shit shit. He thought the sparks coming up from the wet pine needles would hide his heartbeat, that the glow would hide the flush creeping up the back of his neck.

He shifted again and stood up.

“What’s up?”

Stiles gestured vaguely. “We need more firewood.”

“We have plenty.”

Stiles looked down at Scott, the confused earnest face looking back up at him. Stiles shrugged.   
  
“Nah. I’ll be a sec.” Stiles shuffled away from the fire, turning to go into the woods. Scott watched him go before turning back to the fire, frowning. He reached out with his foot and kicked at a branch that had slid out of the circle of stones while Stiles retreated into the trees.

Stiles needed to cool off. He swallowed, pushed his hands against a tree, leaned into it, eyes screwed shut. He took a deep breath, putting his head against the bark, chewing on his mouth. It was just Scott. What the fuck was he thinking?

(That was the thing though, wasn’t it? The kick in the gut, the fucking nut cruncher, he knew what he was thinking, he’d known for years.)

Jesus Christ.

Stiles took a deep breath, tried to shake the smoke from his mind and looked around for some stupid fucking branches so his excuse wouldn’t look like a complete lie. He picked up a few decent looking twigs that would work for firewood and made his way back to the campsite.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles smiled, putting the sticks on the pile. “Never better.”

Scott nodded and shifted, lying back on the grass. Stiles hesitated for a second before sitting down and lying next to him, putting his hands behind his head.

“Seen one yet?”

“Dude, I’m not even sure if I’m going to see one, ever,” Scott muttered, staring up.

Stiles glanced at him, eyebrows raised. He shivered and turned away before he looked upwards as well, waiting for the sky to fall.

 

☉

At two, after nearly three hours of meteors, Stiles realized that both he and Scott were shivering on the ground. He barked a short laugh and sat up. The fire had gone out and the air around them was smokeless, completely clear.

God, it was cold.

“C’mon,” Stiles said, fighting his way to standing. He looked down at Scott, offering his hand to his friend.

 “Shit, when did it start freezing over?” Scott complained as Stiles pulled him up.

“Dunno,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around Scott’s waist and walking with him over to the bike. “There’s a little roadhouse with rooms like ten miles away." Stiles had done his research. He was currently too bleary to even get excited when Scott put his arm around his shoulders for a few seconds before they got to the bike.

“’Bout nine miles too far.”

“You baby,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes as he pushed the towel into his bag, adjusting it across his chest before swinging a leg over the bike. He smirked as he patted the seat in front of him. “Hop on.”

Some arguing and five minutes later, Stiles had one arm around Scott’s waist, pointing out the directions ahead of them. Driving slowly, they pulled up at the dingy roadhouse off the main highway. Stiles nodded, sliding off the bike, holding onto Scott’s elbow as he knocked the kickstand down.

“This way.”

"Mhmm.”

Stiles smiled, leading his nearly-asleep friend into the roadhouse. The reception desk was empty, but there were enough people in the bar through the parlor doors that Stiles was sure that someone could help them.

“Hey!” He rang the bell, looking into the bar area. “Paying customers in line!”

“Jesus,” Scott groaned as Stiles made an exasperated noise and hit the bell a second time. “Stiles, come on.”

“What?” Stiles glanced at Scott, eyebrows up. “There should be someone here, dude.”

“Let’s find them instead of acting like jerk offs, huh?” Scott took a few steps forwards, into the parlor. Making a groaning noise, Stiles followed him, tilting his chin up to look at the ceiling in mock-exasperation and accidentally knocking into the swinging door.

“Fuck!” he groaned, leaning over as a few chuckles came from inside the dimly lit bar. Stiles lifted a middle finger as Scott leaned over to check that he was alright. Stiles’s eyes were watering but he seemed unbloodied. Satisfied, Scott walked over to the bar.

“Your friend alright?” The middle-aged woman came over, wiping down a glass. Stiles was still bent over, hands over his face. Scott smiled a little and shrugged.

“He’ll be fine. We were hoping to get a room for the night.”

Stiles came stumbling up to the bar, laying his head on the counter. Scott smiled and patted his back as the bartender nodded.

“We got something.” She put the glass down and went over to the computer that was (by Stiles’ watery-eyed estimate) about a decade old. “One bed alright?”

“’S fine.” Stiles muttered, waving his hand. It would be cheaper anyway. “How much?”

“Sixty for the night.”

Stiles winced and reached for his wallet but Scott was already handing a credit card over to her. He smiled at Stiles and ruffled his hair. “Aw. Your reflexes suck.”

“Mean.” Stiles sniffed and turned to look around the bar. He blinked the hurt from his eyes and grinned as he saw the nearly cleared billiards table.

One of the men standing around leaned up with his cue and smirked at him. Stiles counted two missing teeth before the man jutted his head up.

“Wanna play?”

“You got money to lose?”

“You’re a bit of a fucker for nearly breaking your head ope’ on the fuckin’ door.”

“You’re a bit ugly to be making jabs at me, buddy,” Stiles retorted, pushing off the counter. Scott groaned, leaning his head forwards.

“I am in hell.”

The bartender seemed unimpressed as Stiles walked over and picked out a pool cue, chalking the tip. Scott walked up behind his friend, glancing around.

“What you got?” Missing teeth smirked, pulling out his wallet.

Stiles twisted his mouth to the side and gave his credit card to Scott. “Be a pal and snag me fifty from the ATM.”

“Fifty?”

“Know what, make it a hundred,” Stiles said as Scott groaned.

“I just want to go to sleep, Stiles.”

“Listen to your boyfriend.” The man raised his eyebrows, pulling out a couple crumpled fifties and putting them on the edge of the pool table, “seems like he needs to kiss your head better, if you know what Ah mean.”

“Scott, come on—” Stiles hissed, turning around and leaning into Scott. “I can take this guy, we’ll be a hundred dollars richer and I’ll buy you beer for a month, okay? And do your laundry, that’s how much I want to do this.”

“You’re an idiot and I love you, but this guy looks like he knows his way around a pool table, alright?” Scott said softly, watching Stiles.

Stiles was still standing close to Scott as laughter came from behind them. Stiles frowned and swallowed. “I can do it, come on. Just let me show these guys a few things.”

They held the gaze a moment longer and Stiles’ heartbeat raised a tick before Scott sighed, rolled his eyes and went over to the ATM. Stiles laughed and turned around, pulling the balls out of the holes, placing them on one end.

“Alright, scruffy, who breaks?”

☉

It didn’t take long for Stiles to clean up. Clumsy he may be, but if there was ever a man who could evaluate different vector analyses, both initial and secondary velocities, all the while implementing basic geometry, it would be Stiles.

He snatched the bills off the table, grinned at Scott, and then turned to his former opponent, whom he now knew to be named Harold.

“Sorry, buddy, that didn’t work out well for you, did it?”

“Yah cheated.”

“Nah, man, you just suck,” Stiles shrugged, putting the pool cue up on the rack. He was feeling pretty satisfied with himself, ignoring the red high on Harold’s cheeks.

“Yer a fuckin’ shithead.”

“Guilty!” Stiles grinned crookedly, shoving the bills into his pocket. He went over to Scott and draped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him towards the exit. “Lovely to meet you all, Rusty, Robert, Juan, Harry—” he nodded at the three men standing around.

Harold looked livid as Stiles retreated. Scott was trying to act as small as possible while Stiles grinned, waving with his free hand.

“It was a great game, really. Fantastic. I appreciated every minute,” he said, gesturing with a mock salute. “Even though every second spent near you was an assault on my delicate senses. Have you ever considered showering once in a while?”

For a middle aged man standing at almost six feet with a beer belly he had been working on for ten years, Harold moved surprisingly fast. He threw down his cue, stormed around the pool table and punched Stiles right in the gut.

“What’d you say to me, punk?” he growled, jerking Stiles forward by his shirt as the young man gasped, eyes watering.

“Let go of him!” Scott yelled, wrenching Stiles back by his arm.

“Harold!” Two of his friends came over quickly, trying to draw the man back. It took a few seconds of struggling before Juan and Rusty managed to get Harold to drop Stiles. Harold let go of Stiles’ shirt and pushed him backwards, his hand almost covering Stiles’ entire face as he shoved him down.

Stiles was still gasping as he was practically tossed aside. He staggered backwards before falling and hitting his head just under his temple on the edge of a table.

“Stiles! Hey, Stiles, eyes over here.”

Blinking a few times, Stiles focused on Scott as a few trickles of blood began to slide down the side of his cheek.

“Can you kick his ass for me?”

“That’s enough, boys.” The bartender was standing in between Harold and Scott and Stiles. She glared at Harold, who looked sufficiently cowed, before looking back over at Stiles.  “Half off the room. Free breakfast in the morning.”

Her look dared them to say anything else and Scott nodded, pulling Stiles up. It was implied that the exchange meant they wouldn’t call the cops.

“’M fine,” Stiles muttered as Scott led him through the bar’s tables. They could hear Harold apologizing to the bartender behind them.

“Right,” Scott took out the key to their room, shivering again as they got outside. “You have a real attitude problem.”

“I have a hair problem. Hair. Harry. A hairy Harold problem.”

“Stop talking.”

“M'kay.”

Scott sighed, walking slowly with his friend down the line of motel rooms until they reached room five. He opened the door and helped Stiles into the room. Stiles was walking fine, but he wasn’t about to refuse help from Scott when the other man had his arm wrapped around his lower back.

“I’ll be fine,” he said quietly as Scott pulled away. “No concussion or anything,” he said, more than a bit annoyed about the entire thing. “Guy couldn’t take a fucking joke.” He rubbed the back of his hand against his nose and glanced up at Scott.

His friend was standing in front of him, hands on his hips. Stiles looked down again, heat rising on his face as Scott reached out to brush his fingers against the cut on Stiles’ face. He set his jaw, ignored how the tightening stretched his cut open further, and looked away from Scott.

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you said that,” Scott dropped his hand, snagged Stiles’ shirt, and pulled him toward the bathroom. “Let me clean you up anyway.”

Stiles swallowed but let Scott shepherd him into the bathroom, wincing as Scott turned on the harsh fluorescent lights. He sat on the toilet and Scott turned on the hot water, looking around.

“Did you see a first aid kit when you walked in?”

“Yeah, I put it in my ass for safekeeping,” Stiles muttered, smirking up at Scott.

“Say that again and I’ll go looking for it.”

“Rude,” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes and leaning his head back as Scott left the bathroom. He came back a few seconds later with a small plastic first aid kit, placing it on the counter and opening it as Stiles looked at him with one eye.

Stiles stayed quiet as Scott pulled out a disinfecting wipe and antibacterial cream. He winced and pursed his mouth as Scott cleaned the cut slowly, leaning over him to gently wipe away the dried blood and smear of dirt.

In a weird way, Stiles thought that maybe he deserved a little more. Another punch to the gut, another cut across his head, a broken nose, something else. He closed his eyes again and took a deep breath as Scott’s other hand rested on his forehead, keeping his head still.

“Shit, bro, I think you’ve got a splinter in here.”

“Fuck.”

“Okay, hold on.” Scott turned away, looking through the box and pulling out a pair of tweezers. “This is going to hurt.”

“Thanks for the warning, Kevorkian,” Stiles muttered, taking a deep breath through his nose, hands in fists on his knees. “Okay, go.”

Scott shifted a little, held the tweezers in his right hand and pulled Stiles’ skin back with his left, leaning in so close to Stiles’ face that he could feel Scott’s breath on his cheek.

Stiles’ hands clenched and unclenched on his legs as Scott carefully nudged the tweezers against the open cut. This was what Stiles had to go through for Scott to get this close to him. He swallowed, squeezing his eyes shut as a flush crept up the back of his neck.

Fuck, it was worth it.

Scott slowly removed a splinter from the cut, wincing for Stiles. He tossed the splinter and tilted his head to the side.

“Alright, one down.”

“There are more?” Stiles tried to add a note of defeat to his voice as Scott nodded, leaning in close again.

“Yeah, hold still,” he muttered, leaning in closer.

He pulled out the second splinter, his hand half in Stiles’ hair as he dropped the second small sliver into the waste bin next to Stiles. Even though he had finished pulling out the splinters Scott didn’t move away. He sighed, moved his thumb over Stiles’ hairline and dabbed the antiseptic cream into the cut as Stiles looked down, face fully red.

“You’re kind of an idiot when you get cocky,” Scott pointed out, standing up straight, his hand still on Stiles’ forehead, his fingers in the other boy’s hair. Stiles shrugged, staring at a point just left of Scott’s midsection.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You didn’t need to be a jerk to him.”

“You saying I deserved to get hit?” Stiles asked defensively, glaring up at Scott. He regretted the words instantly as Scott took a step back, holding his hands up.

“Whoa, hold up. I didn’t say that at all.”

Stiles knew it wasn’t true, he didn’t even believe it himself. He took a deep breath and looked down at his hands, ran them over the outside seams of his jeans before nodding once.

“Sorry,” he said softly, frowning at the tile. Scott nodded and took a few steps back, standing in the doorway as he watched Stiles.

“It’s okay.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to bed, alright?” Scott said, reaching for the door handle. “You okay?”

Stiles glanced up at Scott again and nodded, smirking a little.

“Yeah, course.”

“Good,” Scott smiled and pulled the door shut, leaving Stiles alone in the bathroom.

The young man leaned forwards, putting his hands in his hair, closing his eyes. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. As if the night couldn’t have ended on a worse note. Awful enough was the fact that he didn’t even get to throw a punch of his own, what was really fucked him up was the fact that Scott didn’t even feel bad for him, but felt _sorry_ for him.

Even worse than that was the niggling idea in the back of his mind that Scott wouldn’t even touch him unless he was hurt. It was a desperate, pathetic thought, but it was one that Stiles’ couldn’t shake.  What would Scott want to do with a shattered boy? How broken would he be after another year of this?

Fuck, was he hurting now.

Stiles took a few deep breaths before moving again. He shifted slowly forward, stood up and looked in the mirror, turning his head to examine the long cut that was already surrounded by bruised skin. He would have to come up with a better story than ‘fell into a table during a one-sided bar fight.’

He pushed his hair back and went into the main room, stripping down to his boxers before crawling into bed. He lay down across from Scott and was suddenly annoyed and angry that his small injury made it impossible to turn away from his friend.

Stiles stared at the back of Scott’s head for a few minutes before realizing that it was just about three in the morning. He blinked a few times, swallowed hard and tried not to think about how close he was to Scott before he managed to fall asleep.

☉

Stiles was not an early riser, but the pounding in his head woke him up hours before he would usually be conscious. Blinking awake, he realized that Scott had turned over in his sleep and was now facing him, still asleep.

Fuck. Fuck. Jesus Christ pissing in a fucking shithole in the ground, fuck.

It was unfair.

Stiles couldn’t even breathe as he watched Scott sleeping only six inches away from him. The cut on his forehead was reduced to a distant ache as he flushed deeply, remembering that under the covers they were both only in their boxers, that they had slept next to each other the entire night without even touching once.

And that, Stiles thought to himself, was a damn shame.

He could tell that Scott was dead asleep. Stiles knew that there were four stages of sleep for his best friend: mid-Calc II power nap, post-game exhaustion, the I-just-pulled-an-all-nighter-now-let-me-die collapse that really threw a wrench in Scott’s sleep cycle, and then this. This completely asleep, unworried, gorgeous rest where his mouth was half open and his eyes seemed barely closed and his hair was tousled around his face like it was fucking styled that way.

Stiles couldn’t help but stare. He swallowed, doing his best to stay totally still as he took his time imagining Scott under his fingers. He wanted his hands in Scott’s hair, his thumb pressing against Scott’s lips. Stiles wanted to feel for himself how Scott’s hips bowed down in a small v towards his crotch.

And then Stiles’ face turned completely red, his eyes widened as he realized that he was getting hard in the same bed as his best friend, while his best friend was asleep, while he imagined doing things to his best friend that would break their unspoken ‘no-homo’ rule into a million little pieces. There had to be some kind of bro-code against fantasizing about your best dude while you were in bed with said dude.

Shit.

 _Shit_.

Sheer willpower wasn’t getting him down; he was too busy memorizing Scott’s cheekbones. Although, really, who was he kidding? He had Scott’s bone structure down five years ago. If he was a sculptor he could have filled an entire museum with exact likenesses of Scott McCall at that moment.

He needed to get out of the bed before he did something really, really stupid.

Stiles shifted, trying to ease himself off the bed without waking Scott up. He knew that Scott was a fairly light sleeper, and he moved carefully, trying to shake the bed as little as possible while still protecting his own uncomfortable erection.

Shit.

He froze in place as Scott smacked his lips. Scott’s eyes fluttered and Stiles was a thread of self control away from pushing his friend onto his back and kissing the hell out of him.

When did it get this bad?

Stiles finally slid off the bed, his back against the mattress as he sat on the floor and glared at tent of his boxers. Traitor dick. He stood up slowly, padding softly to the bathroom.

“Hey—”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Stiles half turned, reflexively putting a hand over himself as he glanced back at a yawning Scott.

“Hey.”

“You okay?” Scott asked, leaning up on one elbow, blinking sleepily at Stiles.

Stiles nodded back quickly, taking another step towards the bathroom, well aware that his neck was heating up as he stood there in just his boxers with his hard-on pressing against his palm. He swallowed, realized he was sweating, and shrugged.

“Yeah, man. Fine. Just uh, gotta take a leak.”

Scott flopped back down on the bed and nodded. He put an arm up over his eyes and took a deep breath before kicking the covers down, exposing his chest to Stiles’ wandering eyes. Stiles swallowed, licked his lips and tried to ignore the way that he wanted to push his hips into his hand right there in front of Scott.

Fucking fuck.

Stiles finally made it into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the shower. He fought his way out of his boxers, barely waiting for the water to get lukewarm before jumping in.

It was a testament to Stiles' self control that he was able to wait long enough for his hands to get wet before wrapping one around his aching dick, the other supporting him against the tile. It wasn't that weird if your fantasy was in the other room, breathing, sleepy eyed, probably drooling or something. Jesus, he was so far gone that he even found the thought of Scott McCall drooling incomparably sexy. What kind of bro was he to crush so hard on his best friend like this?  

Fucking ridiculous, was what it was.

Stiles groaned aloud as he imagined Scott in the shower with him, Scott on his knees in the shower, Scott's hand instead of his around his dick. _Fuck. He was so done_. He jerked into his hand, twisting his wrist (because he would tell Scott exactly how he liked it, and God, Scott would be so ready to do whatever it took to make Stiles happy), thinking about Scott with his wet hair pushed back, smiling up at Stiles in that goofy lopsided way.

Gasping, Stiles turned away from the shower’s stream, putting his head against the tile, still thrusting with his hips into his fist. Scott's mouth instead of his hand, Scott's mouth tight around him, drooling over him, fucking thirsty for it.

God, that's that he wanted more than anything else, more than just fantasizing about Scott blowing him in the shower of a dingy hotel room—he wanted Scott to want him too, to think about him like this. Maybe he even wanted Scott to know what he was doing right now. How thin were these walls anyway?

He made a slightly louder noise, running his thumb under the crease of his head, jerking forwards again into his hand. Maybe he was being loud on purpose.

Stiles was so fucking done.

He shifted again to put his shoulder against the tile, turned into the warm water and wrapped both hands around his cock, feeling that curling heat around his lower belly growing. Jesus, he was so close and he had gone so far with just his hand and his fantasies of a red-mouthed, almost teary Scott McCall (because what did a good little straight boy like that know about sucking dick? Nothing, God, fuck, Stiles wanted to teach him everything), sucking him off as he thrust into his open mouth—

Stiles came with a loud moan that turned into a gasp as he turned to press his chest against the cold tile, thrusting in jerky movements into his tight hands. He was weak in the knees as the last spurts came out, and he waited a few seconds before he put his hands on the wall and pushed himself to standing, not trusting his legs to hold himself up.

This was all the fault of his traitor dick getting hard and his traitor heart beating too fast and his traitor friend being the perfect little fantasy fuck toy and Jesus Christ this was not happening again in less than two minutes.

He reached over and turned the water to cold as a knock came from the door.

"Stiles, you okay?"

Stiles jerked around in the shower, eyes wide as he stared through the see-through shower curtain at the door, which he only now realized he hadn't locked and was now half an inch open.

"Hey. Uh. Fine."

"Yeah? Cause I heard some noise that made it sound like you fell or something."

Poor, stupid, oblivious, adorable Scott. Stiles took a deep breath and nodded, wiping the come off the tiles and squirting nearly the entire bottle of hotel brand body wash into a hand towel.

"No, totally cool, the water just hurt my cut, you know. Stung a little," Stiles lied easily as the door opened and Scott walked in.

"Try not to hurt yourself anymore, alright?" Scott joked as he turned away from the shower curtain, pushing his boxers down and looking up as he used the toilet.

This was ridiculous. Scott was just standing three feet away, using his dick in the least sexy way possible, for entirely necessary purposes, and Stiles had to busy his hands with the tiny bottle to keep from ripping the shower curtain back and pulling Scott into the shower with him. Fucking hell.

"You listening?"

"Sorry, what's up?" Stiles looked towards Scott's back as he moved over to wash his hands.

"Let's get going soon, what do you think?"

"Oh, yeah, the sooner the better."

Scott laughed and nodded, running his hands through his hair a few times before heading out of the bathroom. "Yeah, seconded," he said, closing the door, "let's try to beat traffic."

"Sure," Stiles said weakly as Scott walked away. He looked down at his limp dick, glad that the cold water had prevented a second Scott-induced erection and the most awkward moment of Stiles’ life, including getting a boner just from watching Scott McCall drool on a pillow less than a foot away from him.

Jesus.

Stiles finished washing himself and quickly toweled off, slipping on his boxers and changing in the bedroom.

His dick only twitched as he straddled Scott on his bike a few minutes later, but he shifted and pressed it into an uncomfortable position that would surely be enough to prevent an accidental pop up on the way back home.

Although, he thought as they pulled away from the motel, he wouldn't mind jerking off tomorrow to the idea of fucking Scott to tears on the back of this bike, Scott bent over the handlebars, up on his toes, Stiles' hands on his ass, spreading him open as he pushed—

Jesus Christ, it was going to be a long ride.

☉

A week of classes had gone by and Stiles was _dying_. He had been sober for way too long, his classes were starting to bear down on him and he could hardly look at his best friend for five minutes before having to suggest a diversion (basketball? Xbox? homework?) to wrench himself out of the gravitational pull of Scott McCall’s everything.

The only reprieve that the young man could imagine involved mind-numbing amounts of weed, a live band that would serve as an excuse to drag Scott out of the house, and the ever-faithful Backyard Bar, a seedy place downtown that sometimes forgot to check for ID if Stiles slipped a dimebag to the bouncer.

It wasn’t a bad system, and Stiles had it perfected.

It took a bit of cajoling to get Scott to take a hit from the pipe, but after the first puff Stiles had no trouble at all sharing the rest of the cash before it was spent.

Giggling, slightly high, Stiles shook Roger’s hand, slipped him a tenth, gave Missy a kiss on the cheek, passing her his ID with another small baggie, and in they went. He kept his red eyes down, glanced back as Scott was waved in and grinned wider.

“These guys are supposed to be good. Liv was talking about it in stats,” Scott said, walking up next to Stiles and smiling. “She used the phrase ‘exciting like sucking cherry bombs’ and I’m not really sure what that means.”

Stiles laughed, looking up at Scott and nodding.

“Sure. I wouldn’t mind sucking on a few of those myself,” he said, walking over and pushing through to the front of the bar, ordering them both a beer and paying before Scott could touch his wallet. “My treat, shut up.”

Stiles knocked his bottle against Scott’s and smiled at him before taking a sip. They were both teary eyed and dry-mouthed, Scott’s cheeks slightly flushed, Stiles’ eyes flitting from an empty corner, to a shoulder, to the hemline of a girl’s skirt, to Scott.

Scott.

“The band’s already playing,” Stiles said, taking a few steps away and pulling on Scott’s arm. “C’mon.”

Scott just laughed and followed Stiles into the larger dance floor, sipping his beer, already nodding to the music.

Standing on the edge, Stiles started to nod and sway, grinning as the band picked up into a brighter, pounding beat. He laughed, turned to face Scott and made a few gestures with his arms, starting to dance in the unhinged way that had plagued him since high school. Scott couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows and shake his head, laughing as he looked around the room.

“You look ridiculous,” he said, smirking at his friend.

“I feel ridiculous,” Stiles agreed and bobbed his head, sipped his beer, reached out to pull Scott onto the dance floor.

Scott laughed, taking the few steps forward, pushed closer to Stiles by the crowd. He wasn’t the best dancer in the most ideal of situations, but hella high with a beer in his hand at least made sure he wasn’t uncomfortable. He smiled at his grinning friend, nodded and started to sway a little, eyes closed.

Stiles took the opportunity when he saw it. He sipped his beer, edged closer to Scott, turned a little away from him.

Perfect. Perfect, fucking perfect.

His shoulder was at Scott’s sternum as they moved, as the crowd pressed in on them. Scott bumped his beer bottle on Stiles’ collarbone and laughed as he danced. It was stupid magnetic, it was everything. Stiles stared at Scott in profile, danced closer.

It wasn’t fair.

Stiles closed his eyes, turned and pressed against Scott.

He ached, he fucking ached.

Scott laughed, stepped away; Stiles’ entire chest fell down. He took a deep breath, blinking away the haze from his eyes before he was pushed back into Scott, his shoulders against his friend’s chest.

“Shit! Sorry, babe. Sorry, buddy,” Stiles muttered, his mouth dry as he tried to take a step away from Scott, only to end up pressed against a girl who gave him a withering look and sent him back against his friend. Stiles laughed, his heart fucking pounding up into the roof of his mouth when he felt the way that Scott hesitated before side-stepping away from Stiles, only half pressed against him..

“Crazy packed!” Scott said, finishing his beer.

Stiles nodded, pressing against Scott, still dancing. He realized he was almost grinding against Scott before he felt Scott’s hand on his hip.

Stiles’ eyes widened. He took a deep breath as his knees went in an awkward direction. Fuck, oh, God dammit.

He laughed, he had to. This was insane. The lights were blurring together and he could feel his skin burning up where Scott was touching him. He was too far gone to really form a coherent thought so he just leaned back a little. Stiles couldn’t see what Scott was doing, where he was looking, couldn’t do anything but feel Scott’s hand on his hip and his chest against his shoulder blade.

Just a hand, a few fingers right on the wing of his hip. It was fucking stupid how red Stiles’ face was, how he was blinking faster, looking around as if the mass around him would be able to give him some guidelines. Maybe a chart? A list outlining the pros and cons of this situation? Anything that would give him some direction.

Variables. He was thinking about variables when Scott’s hand tightened on his hip and pulled him back as a burly frat boy in a jersey stormed past them to the bar. Stiles was thinking about possible narrative tangents as Scott laughed in his ear, said too loudly, ‘ _Dude looks pissed!_ ’ He was imagining excuses and reasons and possible explanations that would justify the situation in a totally straight way but there was no way that Stiles, high on dank shit and buzzed off cheap beer, could account for the fact that Scott’s fingers slipped under his shirt to hold him close in the crowd.

Shit, he was done, he was so done.

Stiles wasn’t really thinking anymore as he turned around, slotted a leg between Scott’s and put his forearm over Scott’s shoulder, beer hanging by his side. He closed his eyes and nodded to the music as Scott laughed, looked away and danced with him, rocking his hips slowly.

Yep. He could die right now and be a happy, happy boy. Right here, high as fuck, with Scott’s fingers on him, with a band playing excitedly in the background, with the inside of his leg touching Scott’s.

So fucking happy, it was pathetic. Stiles was grinning hugely as he danced with Scott. They forgot the time, how long it took, but Scott’s arm was around Stiles’ waist and his crotch was pressed against Stiles’ leg. Thirty minutes? Forty?

Scott pressed his fingers into the darker indents of Stiles’ spine and pulled back. Stiles looked at Scott, eyes red, and he nodded, steeling himself.

“Want to get out of here?” Stiles asked, watching Scott carefully. Scott paused, blinked a few times and nodded.

“Yeah,” he turned and took a step back, dropping his hand and moving away from Stiles. If it was possible for someone’s chest to snap because of the way a heart was beating, everyone in the room would have heard Stiles’ ribs shatter. Stiles swallowed and followed Scott out of the bar, dropping his bottle on the ground and barely seeing anything as they left the building, passed the bouncers quickly, and walked towards home.

It was stifling. Stiles felt better in the heat of the dance floor than he did outside. The cool breeze cut through his shirt and he shivered, crossing his arms.

Neither of them said anything during the walk home. They were coming down off their high, the two beers they had drunk not leaving them at all impaired.

Something had changed and Stiles didn’t even know what _something_ was.

They got home and Scott pushed through, walking slowly into the main room and sitting on the couch, turning on the TV. Stiles blinked at him, unsure of what to do next. He shut the door, looked around, and then went to the kitchen area.

“Want a beer?”

“Yeah.”

Stiles shut the door, popped the caps and walked over, sitting next to Scott and handing him a bottle.

“Thanks.”

“Mhmm,” Stiles answered, sipping the beer and watching whatever History Channel reality show Scott had turned on without complaint.

It was just a few dances. It wasn’t anything.  
  
Stiles drank his beer quietly.

It didn’t mean anything.

☉

The TV was still on when Stiles woke up, a tingling pain in his arm. He blinked a few times and realized that in the aftermath of the hella dank weed and dance session, he and Scott had fallen asleep on the couch. The weight on his chest, cutting off circulation to his arm, happened to be Scott McCall, asleep with his eyes closed and mouth open.

Fuck, this again.

Stiles swallowed and shifted, trying to get blood back into his arm without waking Scott up. Unfortunately Scott wasn’t in too deep of a sleep either and he started a little as he fell forwards.

“Davis—” Scott muttered, looking around. Stiles’ stomach dropped to the ground. Scott had been dreaming about a Davis?

“Do you think?” Scott said, almost conversationally, looking over at Stiles, “You think U.C. Davis will suck shit again this year?”

“Oh, my God.”

“You think they’ll do good?” Scott seemed almost offended.

Stiles laughed and pushed at Scott’s shoulder, standing up.

“No way, man,” Stiles said, reaching down to pull his friend up as well. “They’re made of shit. Even shitty lacrosse players know to go East Coast before going to Davis.”

Scott nodded, yawning and walking with Stiles to their rooms on opposite sides of the hallway.

“Yeah, God. I panicked for a second and thought my bracket might be off or something,” Scott said, going into the bathroom and flicking the door shut. Stiles just stared at door for a few seconds before blinking and taking a step back.

That was it? He still didn’t have all the feeling back in his hand and Scott had already disappeared.

Okay. That was fine.

Stiles took a deep breath and nodded, taking a step back and going quickly into his room. He changed, put on a long pair of pants, turned on the lamp and looked around his room.

His mouth felt dry and tacky and he knew that if he woke up tasting alcohol he would feel disgusting the rest of the day. Stiles took a deep breath. It had been a few minutes, maybe Scott was already in his own room.

Stepping into the hallway Stiles made a noise, annoyed to see the light still on in the bathroom. He was sleepy enough, maybe Scott had left the light on.

When the door opened just as he reached for the knob, Stiles almost tripped into Scott. He grabbed onto the wall frame, croaked out a laugh that caught in his throat and took a half step back, hitting his shoulder hard against the wood.

“Shit, you okay?” Scott said quickly, immediately concerned. He took a step forwards and Stiles swallowed, eyes widening a little.

“Yeah, sure,” he said, smirking a little before winching when he raised his arm to push his hair back. “The usual amount of okay, I guess.”

“Did you hurt something?”

There it was again, the sincerity, the raised eyebrows, the actual way that Stiles could track the worry flitting over Scott’s face. Stiles nodded, swallowed, looked to the side and gestured into the bathroom.

“I backed into a door, dude. I’m not made of china.”

“I know,” Scott smiled a little as he put a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. The taller boy felt rooted to the spot as Scott slid his hand to his neck, leaned in closer. “Nothing’s hurt?”

Stiles’ hands were at his sides, suddenly clammy. He couldn't move as Scott moved so that barely an inch separated them, his hand at the short hair at the back of his neck.

“You may need another haircut before we go back to class.”

Stiles nodded weakly, mouth dry.

“Okay,” his voice was soft. Stiles blinked and looked down, trying so hard to ignore the warm hand at his neck, to ignore the way his stomach had dropped out of his body entirely. Could Scott hear his heartbeat pounding in his throat?

“If you’re worried about fucking up your undercut, I’ll do it.”

His hand hadn’t moved. Stiles could only nod.

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

Scott smiled and leaned in, pressing his mouth to Stiles’, sliding his hand into his hair. His mouth was soft and pliant and Stiles’ heart stopped for the three seconds that Scott kissed him.

As Scott pulled back, Stiles’ eyes were wide, his mouth slack as Scott smiled, laughed, took a few steps away.

“You taste like stale beer,” Scott said, smiling and walking backwards towards his room. Stiles nodded weakly, gesturing into the bathroom.

“I can take care of that.”

Scott smiled but didn’t answer. He walked back into his room, leaving the door open a few inches. What had just happened? Was this seriously his life right now? Years of sweaty palms and mislaid plans and all of a sudden Scott just fucking kisses him?

Stiles barely brushed his teeth for thirty seconds; fuck the two minute rule. He turned off the lights, tripped over nothing, pushed Scott’s door open and walked right up to him, kissing him hard. Scott dropped the shirt he was changing into, turning to wrap both arms around around Stiles’ waist.

“Better.”

“Welcome.”

Stiles had his hands on Scott’s jaw, his thumbs moving over Scott’s cheekbones. Scott laughed a little, smiling up at Stiles.

“You look like someone just kicked your dog.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles muttered, leaning in to kiss him again. Scott made a soft noise, smiled, pulled Stiles closer.

“Fuck me then.”

“Oh, my God.” Stiles leaned in to kiss Scott hard, his face turning red, the tips of his ears and the back of his neck flushing as he took a few steps forward, pushing Scott against his dresser.

“Should I say it again?” Scott was smiling and Stiles had to laugh, a panicked, gasping giggle that ended with another breathless kiss.  

“No,” he kissed the corner of Scott’s mouth, then his cheekbone. “No, I can do that. Let me do that.”

It could have been the happiest moment of Stiles’ life and he found himself almost close to tears. He pressed his temple against Scott’s, screwed his eyes shut and leaned into him, holding him tightly behind his neck. His heart was beating like a hammer and he couldn’t even breathe, he was pressed that close to Scott.

“Ow,” Scott muttered, shifting away from the corner of the dresser. “You okay?”

Stiles nodded, turning his face into Scott’s hair, taking a shuddery breath in.

“Yeah.” His hands tightened and he leaned into him again, kissing down his jaw. “I’m okay.”

Scott moved his hand up and down Stiles’ bare back, turning his head to catch Stiles’ mouth.

That was it: he was done. Stiles could have died a happy, happy man right then. He pressed himself hard against Scott, kissed him intensely, and took a few steps towards Scott’s bed. Stiles sat down, holding Scott in front of him, eyes wide.

It seemed impossible. He drew his hands down Scott’s chest as Scott pushed his hair back, bent down to kiss him again.

“Mm.” Stiles’ hands tightened around Scott’s sides as he tilted his head up, deepened the kiss before pulling Scott onto the bed (guiding, really, as if he could possibly move Scott anywhere he didn’t want to go). He shifted with Scott, lay down with him, slid a leg in between Scott’s and kept kissing him, sliding his hands over his sides.

“God, how are you even real—”

Wow, Stiles, way to be smooth. That doesn’t make you sound desperate _at all._ Breathe in, breathe out, repeat.

“Stiles,” Scott muttered, leaning in to talk against Stiles’ mouth, “kiss me before I chicken out.”

Done. Stiles’ fingers found the indents of Scott’s ribs, pulled him close. In the half-dark Stiles kissed Scott hard, shifting so he could slide a hand under his side, slip his fingers into Scott’s hair as he opened his mouth over Scott’s.

How did he ever imagine this scene playing out? Did Scott whimper when Stiles’ pulled his hair? Did he cant his hips into Stiles’? Did his hand slide over his stomach and then hesitate at his waistband in his fantasies?

Maybe.

Stiles made a noise, pressing his nose against Scott’s and pulling back a little. He had one hand on Scott’s lower back and he laughed breathlessly as Scott hooked a finger into the elastic of his waistband.

“Okay,” Stiles murmured, shifting his hips up a little. “Count of three we both reach for whatever we want.”

Scott laughed as Stiles counted; “One, two—”

“Three.” Scott smiled wickedly, dropping his hand and pressing it against the tent of Stiles’ pants.

“You fucker,” Stiles almost gasped, reaching down to grab Scott’s ass, grinding against him. “You’ll pay for that.”

“Good.”

☉

Stiles knew he was doing something right when Scott cursed in Spanish. Bingo. Turn on. He knew it.

As it happened, Scott wasn’t exactly the extra-virgin straight boy that Stiles had been expecting. Granted, lube and condoms in a side table did not a queen make, but at least Scott knew about the basics, told Stiles that he should go slow, that everything needed . . . oh God, Stiles shouldn’t be so turned on by Scott blushing when he said the word ‘preparation’.

Done, done, done.

Well Stiles wanted to watch every breath Scott took and Scott wanted to be in charge of the pace, so they had ended up with Stiles on his back, Scott’s hands on his chest and a lot of inexpertly applied lube in between them.

“Shit, so I just. . . back up?” Scott asked, wiggling a little, arching his ass back to brush against Stiles’ cock.

“Dude, you have to like, guide it in.” Stiles was smirking, his hands tight on Scott’s hips as they tried to discuss the mechanics of Scott fucking himself on Stiles’ cock.

Stiles groaned and shook his head. Nope.

“Okay, okay, babe, baby, here.” Stiles make a noise, rolling his shoulders against the bed and pulling Scott up by his ass. “Alright, so,” he sighed, smiling up at Scott, who had knelt up, still looking a little unsure of where everything was supposed to go.

“Wow.”

“What?” Scott raised his eyebrows, taking a deep breath and pushing his hair back.

“Nothing, just, you. I guess.”

“You guess?” Scott laughed and Stiles squirmed underneath him.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles licked his lips, looking up at Scott, reaching down in between his legs to hold himself gently. God, they had gone a little overboard with the KY. “Okay so, reach behind you, right? And just...guide it in.”

“Sure. Simple.” Scott shifted again, reaching back to hold Stiles’ cock, sliding back until Stiles was pressing against him.

“Jesus Christ.”

“What?” Scott’s hand tightened and Stiles groaned.

“Just...keep going,” Stiles breathed, setting his feet on the bed, his hands tightening on Scott’s legs as he resisted the urge to thrust up.

It took a few more seconds but Scott finally made a gasping noise, clenched his hands on Stiles’ shoulders and slowly slid down Stiles’ dick. His legs were shaking, his hair was over his eyes and his mouth was open, but at that moment Stiles couldn’t have imagined him any other way.

Stiles reached down, stroking Scott gently, murmuring to him.

“That’s great, Scott.” Stiles said, swallowing, his eyes fluttering as Scott made a soft noise. “Perfect.”

He tilted his hips up and Scott almost growled, digging his nails into the meat of Stiles’ neck before relaxing. Slowly (agonizingly slow), Scott started to rock down on Stiles cock, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Jesus,” Stiles groaned, spreading his legs a little more, starting to move his hand over Scott. “God, Scott, you’re amazing, you fucking know that? All this time and you were holding out on me, you son of a bitch—”

Scott laughed and Stiles made a distressed sound, leaning up to kiss Scott hard. The shorter boy gasped as he was pulled down Stiles’ dick, opened his mouth as Stiles slipped his tongue in and started to stroke him.

This was impossible. Stiles had never dreamed that Scott would be arching his back down onto him, that he would have his mouth open for Stiles to kiss. Everything about Scott was incredible; beyond belief. Stiles tightened his hand around Scott just to hear him keen against his teeth.

In between Scott’s eager, inexpert rocking, Stiles’ long fingers wrapped around his dick, guiding his hips back, it didn’t take long for Stiles to lean up, gasping.

“Scott,” he groaned, wrapping an arm around Scott’s waist, pulling him down until his entire cock was buried in his friend. “Scott, fuck.” He pushed his hips up, kissed Scott’s neck, and moaned, coming as his hands tightened.

That was it. He was done. On his tombstone someone should write: ‘Died after fucking Scott McCall: Nothing ever topped him.”

He chuckled, lying back, smiling up at Scott in a sloppy, almost sleepy way.

“Alright,” he said, shifting a little and with a sloppy plop, slid out of Scott. Not pretty. Not nice. He made a noise, rubbing Scott’s thighs and sighing.

“Lie down.”

Scott almost collapsed next to Stiles, smiling at him. Stiles turned to kiss him, moving his hand slowly over Scott's still-hard cock.

“You were so good.” Stiles said, running one hand down Scott’s side, the other pumping him slowly, tightening over Scott. Scott laughed, leaned in to mutter against Stiles’ mouth.

“Beginner’s luck.”

“We’ll practice.” Stiles continued to move his hand and Scott responded, shifting his hips up, gasping a little.

“Yeah?” Scott was breathless, his cheeks were flushed, his hair sweat-slicked against his forehead.

“Can’t expect to get good at something,” Stiles muttered, smiling against his mouth, “without proper training.” He twisted his hand and was pleased to hear Scott’s breath hitch, “you gotta work hard at it.”

“Is that why,” Scott moaned a little, turning his head against Stiles’ neck, jerking his hips up, into Stiles’ hand, “you’re so good at hand jobs?”

“God, that hurts, Scott,” Stiles laughed, moving his hand faster, grinning as Scott pushed closer to him, sliding a leg over his hip. “Maybe I’m so good at hand jobs ‘cause I’m always jerking off to you? What do you think about that?”

“I think the real thing,” Scott could barely make the words out, one of his hands clenched tight in Stiles’ hair, the other around his arm. “The real thing’s probably better.”

Oh god, there it was. Some kind of stupid goddamn wide-eyed innocence that only Scott McCall could pull off after just being fucked. Stiles turned to kiss Scott, pressing his hips against Scott as he twisted his hand again. Scott came suddenly, jerking forward and groaning into Stiles’ mouth.

“Yeah,” Stiles muttered, stroking him through his climax, “the real thing’s pretty fucking amazing.”

☉

Stiles almost broke Scott's alarm as he tried to turn it off in the morning. Flopping back he was sure that he could have committed murder right then. 

 “We have class.” Scott groaned as Stiles’ arm tightened around his waist.

“Fuck class.”

“Stiles, come on.” Scott pulled the pillow out from under Stiles’ head, tossing it on the floor.

“No.” Stiles had no desire to move anywhere that did not involve a very naked, very warm Scott McCall being the little spoon in a soon-to-be forking position.

“No? Stiles,” Scott huffed, falling back on the bed, shifting and pressing his back against Stiles’ chest. “Nettlebaum takes attendance. She got on your case last month.”

“Fuck her.” Stiles muttered, tightening his arm around Scott.

“Trying to make me jealous?”

Stiles laughed, Scott’s smile obvious. He leaned in to kiss the back of Scott’s neck, nuzzling against his hair.

“Just stay with me,” Stiles said softly, smiling. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this happy, this fucking satisfied. He didn’t need coffee, he didn’t need to eat, he didn’t even really think that he needed air as long as Scott was with him.

There was a pause and finally Scott sighed, relaxing against Stiles.

“This isn’t going to be a regular thing, alright?”

“Mhmm,” Stiles murmured, holding Scott tightly, grinning against his neck. This was everything. There was nothing more beyond this thing, if that’s what Scott wanted to call it. If it was up to him, there would never be anything else.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely, lovely artist Razz (vulcains.tumblr.com), and my fantastic Beta-reader S., who was an absolute dear and even endured my other emailed plotbunnies. Thanks to the two darling people who put on the rev bang. Show them some love at scilesreversebang.tumblr.com. You can find me on tumblr at no-appy-polly-loggies.tumblr.com
> 
> It's my first TW fanfic! Let me know what you all think! <3


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